About Me

Jim is the author of eight novels, three memoirs and four business books. He made a covered wagon and horseback trip across Texas to retrace the journey his ancestors had made two generations earlier and wrote Biscuits Across the Brazos to chronicle the trip. He traveled the team roping circuit as an amateur and worked roundups on big ranches. Working beside real cowboys sent him back to writing. Using lessons he had learned from more than 10,000 client interviews over thirty years and memories from his rural Texas roots, Jim published five novels in his Follow the Rivers series and three in the Tee Jessup/Riverby series. He has also published three memoirs and story collections.He has been a Writers Digest International Book Contest Finalist.

Monday, June 23, 2014

During the decades I spent trying
to build muscle in the left side of my brain, I always admired those who were
strong on the other side, the creative side. When I began to write, I noticed
that songwriters and poets could tell a story in seventy words that might take
me seven hundred or more (and their words rhymed). Of course, this was back in
the good old days when songs did tell stories.

As I try to build mind pictures for
my readers, I sometimes play inspiring background music and wish that I could
put that music in my words. More often than not, the music is played only in my
mind.

When I see a book converted to a movie done well, I envy the music and
cinematography that can thrill us, inspire us, fill us up with emotion and make
us overflow. Writers have to make do with written words on a printed page, and
nowadays, on the screen of the latest gadget.

Remember that sweeping panoramic
view of Montana mountains and valleys at the end of The Horse Whisperer as Tom Booker watched Annie Maclean drive away
to music that tugged at our heartstrings?

We writers try to achieve that affect
in at least one or two scenes in a book (some try to do it on every page), but
we just don’t have the visual effects and the sound. Still, if there had been
no story told, no novel, no screenplay, there would have been no movie, no
soundtrack, and no music. Words always come first, and we can take comfort in
that.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

It is well
past midnight when Burl steps out into the cold yard at home.The house is dark.He holds the truck door that Weldon is trying
to close.“You owe me eighty-five more
dollars, Weldon, and you damn sure gonna pay me this time.”

Months
pass before Burl sees Weldon again.He
does see Weldon’s horses being shod by another farrier, though, and wonders if
Weldon will pay the other fella with a hot check. His question is answered two
months later as Burl leaves his house before daylight on a particularly hot
Saturday morning and sees Weldon’s horses tied in his horse lot, waiting to be
shod. Burl grunts. "Must have written that other farrier a hot check."

He sits
down to smoke a cigarette as he stares at Weldon’s horses and waits for good
daylight.Other customers drop off their
horses and Burl takes them in order.It
is close to five o’clock when he finishes with all the other customers’ horses.Weldon’s horses’ hooves are still long and
cracked, their shoes missing nails.

It is
after midnight when Weldon parks his truck and trailer in the dark lane north
of Burl’s barn.He walks a quarter mile
on the dusty road in silence and tries to keep the gate hinges from squeaking
as he enters the horse lot.He uses the
light of the moon to check the horses’ new shoes.Satisfied and a little surprised, he is
untying lead ropes when he sees the red tip of Burl’s cigarette emerge from the
moonlight shadows.

Burl drops
his cigarette and grounds it out with his boot.“I live here.”

“Listen,
Burl, I hate to be so late gettin’ back an all, but I didn’t get finished
haulin’ till after dark, then …”

“Was you
gonna leave without payin’ me again, Weldon?”

“Aw, naw,
Burl.Shoot, I was gonna write you a
check and leave it over there under the anvil way I always do.”He walked toward the anvil.“Didn’t you find that last check I left over
there?”

“I got two
of them checks in my pocket here.Both
of ‘em hot enough to bend a horseshoe.”

“Well,
now, I had no idea.That mighta been the
time I was having trouble with that damn bank makin’ mistakes on me.Try runnin’ them things through again.”

“Ran 'em
through twice.They burnin' a hole in my
pocket right now.”

“You’d
thank them bank people could keep up better.”

“Them
mistakes usually happen a lot when you don’t put no money in your account,
Weldon.”

Weldon
nods vigorously and studies his boots.“Tell you what, I’ll just write you a check to cover today’s shoes and
them other two checks.Let me just load
these horses and get my checkbook out of the pickup pocket.I parked aways down the road to keep from
wakin’ you and Lillie.”Weldon starts to
lead the horses out of the lot but they refuse to budge.He looks down to see what is the trouble and
finds a chain that locks a leg of each horse to a corral post.

“You owe
me for today and them two hot checks, Weldon.Plus eighty-five dollars for that hog trip.”

“Now Burl,
you know I can’t afford to carry that kind of money on me.Places I go, it might get a man killed.Why don’t I just come by here first thing
Monday morning and bring the cash?”

“That’ll
be fine.Knew you wouldn’t have it. You
just pick which one of them horses you think the least of and I’ll keep it till
I get my money.If you ain’t brought it
by the end of Monday, I’ll be takin' it to the Tuesday sale.”

Burl
almost feels a twinge of pity as Weldon sees he is trapped.“What did you ever do with them hogs, anyway,
Weldon?”

“Was gonna
have one butchered and put in the freezer.Sell the rest and have one to eat free and clear.”

“Who
bought 'em?”

Weldon
shook his head, slumped his shoulders.“Nobody.Was always scared of
hogs and they all got away when I was trying to unload the trailer.”